I've become so used to memes that I've lost the talent to create titles to blog posts including this one. See, there's a period. How could this be a title?

This morning a friend asked 'Ser, kelan ka magbabalik?' And before I could give an honest answer,  the whole history of lagataw flashed through my mind.


Fifteen years ago, I went hiking for the first time. Then it became a goal. I'd make it a point to climb a mountain once a month. I made a list, a  little black book, a blog. Then it became my nature. It was no longer an effort. My world had been rearranged. I just woke up one day and all my friends had hydration packs and trekking poles instead of Marlboro packs and sticks. I gravitated towards heights wherever I lived. Cantabaco and Alegria when in Cebu; Batulao when in Tagaytay;  everywhere when in Benguet; and a slackline when in the city. Then I became procreative in my passion, adding a handful of nouns in the glossary of Philippine mountaineering. In case you didn't know, I coined Bakun Trio and Luzon 3-2-1, without any intention or vision, whatsoever to make them the standard name to those itineraries. They were just pompous titles to my albums in the now defunct multiply.com. And not so long ago, I added the highfalutin terms, KKB and Timbak U. And only a chosen few were able to understand. This was probably the pinnacle of my outdoors life. The outdoors had literally become my career. It was a lie when I would post 'the return of lagataw' on my wall, because there was no return, so to speak. My absence was just an effort to suppress the itch to climb. Climbing was my default drive and the question 'Kelan ka magbabalik?' required no answer.


And suddenly today, that question has become meaningful. It has become something I can relate to, something I have to ponder upon. And now it requires an answer I cannot readily give.


Will bringing back this backpack full of camping stuff straight out of the holidays guarantee the revival of lagataw?